“No.”
“Then why?”
I looked around the room. At the empty cabinets. The peeling linoleum. The baby still crying in the back.
“Because someone should.”
She didn’t say anything. Just stared. I could feel her testing every word I’d said, looking for cracks.
After a long moment, she nodded.
“You said your name was …?”
“Charlie.”
She looked like she wanted to ask more. Like she knew better.
But all she said was, “Thank you.”
I nodded. Tipped my head to Tyrese.
“You hang in there, all right?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
I stepped outside into the heavy air and let the door close behind me.
For a second, I just stood there.
Let it settle.
Sometimes this part was the hardest. The walking away.
But it was also the point.
No follow-up. No photo ops. No last names.
Just in and out. Quiet as a ghost. Sometimes there was trouble. That was good. I was a Dane. Danes liked trouble. Loved it even.
Back in the truck, I let out a slow breath. Rubbed the back of my neck. I was just starting to feel good about the day when my phone buzzed.
Marcus.
I considered ignoring it. Thought about letting it go to voicemail.
Then I remembered the last time I did that, and the blowback that followed.
I answered.
“Yeah?”
“You’re still in Charleston, right?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Good. I need a favor.”
“Let me guess—something shady involving federal agents and zero plausible deniability?”
